Burden of Responsibility
by amy jonas
Summary: His brother will do anything to protect him even fight the devil himself. But the burden of The Demon is HIS responsibility to bear.


Burden of Responsibility

By: Amy Jonas

Summary: His brother will do anything to protect him; even fight the devil himself.

But the burden of The Demon is _HIS _responsibility to bear.

Category: Gen/Het/Angst

Ratings: T

Spoilers: Minor Spoilers for a few eps from Season one. Pilot, Phantom Travelor and. Devil's Trap.

Feedback: Feed me, Seymore!

Disclaimer: The boys belong to some other people

A/N: Thanks to Jen for stepping into beta while my regular beta is away attending a Sci-Fi con.

Sam wakes abruptly; jackknifing in bed. His breath is rapid and harsh and far too loud for the silence that presses in around him. In the space of a heartbeat he is out of bed and kneeling before his rucksack. He fumbles with the zipper; pushes aside socks and underwear and notebooks until he finds the .45 tucked in a corner. He seizes the weapon like a lifeline and thumbs off the safety.

He returns to the bed, sits on the edge, back ramrod straight and searches the darkness for God know what but all he sees is the outlines of shabby motel room furniture; hears his blood careening through his veins. Ice slithers up his spine making him shiver in the too warm room.

Questions hurtle through his head like a shuttlecock: Why. Why. Why. He knows his waking wasn't as simple as a nightmare. That could be banished to the edges of his mind with bright light, cold water and the monotonous noise of television. It wasn't a vision either. He thinks he would almost prefer it; blinding headaches aside. At least he could take action; fight to change the outcome of whatever horror he was forced to witness.

Of all his abilities, he understands the strange vibes the least. There is nothing tangible that he can point to and give reason to them. He abhors feeling like the proverbial moth being compelled – driven - to some mysterious destination. It had served him in Lawrence when the mysterious figure on fire stalked toward him. He had _felt _her even before their mother had shown herself. But the vibes had also led him to Chicago and Meg and ultimately the trap in which they had been used to try and ensnare their father.

With the vibes are only feelings that–

_Something is out there _

He's on his feet and at the window in two long strides. Peering out into the blackness, he has a perfect view of the shadowy parking lot. There are a dozen cars that could potentially hide a malevolent entity. An uneasy feeling sneaks over him. He feels far too vulnerable; as if the wall separating him from the night is made of paper mache. His lungs burn inside his aching chest; his heart thrashes against his ribs like a frenetic drum solo. He grippes the .45, expecting–

_It's coming _

something to crash through the flimsy motel room walls and tear him and Dean to bloody shreds.

Dean.

Images of Dean pinned to the wall

(helpless)

bloody and mangled; agonized pleas

(begging)

for their father to save him are still fresh and raw in his mind.

Sam swings his gaze toward the other bed; irrational fear smothering him. But Dean is safe and whole; gently snoring. On hand is buried under his pillow. Sam knows his brother's fingers are curled around the hunting knife (That's not fear. That's precaution) that he always keeps under his pillow.

Sam releases his pent up breath. The pain from his oxygen starved lungs subside as he takes shallow breaths. But it does nothing to calm–

_It wants_

The feeling that resonates through him with a surety that fire is his destiny; his future, ash and cinder.

Just as the fire had claimed his mom and Jessica.

From the time he had learned to talk; asking questions had been second nature to him. His teachers encouraged them. His father tolerated them to a point. Dean accepted them as a part of him. But they had never been used against him.

"_They got in the way of my plans for you, Sammy."_

The demon had answered 'Why' in vagaries that taunted and left his next question dying on his tongue. Even as he stubbornly stared into the depths of the demons yellow eyes, refusing to let it see the fear that seethed inside, he was assailed by memories of Jessica's death; all in vivid Technicolor and Dolby Surround Sound. He could feel the heat of the flames on his skin; the smell of her burning flesh; cloying and heavy in his nose.

He tastes sour bile rising up his esophagus as fear twists his guts in thick, hard knots weighing him down like cinder blocks on a drowning man. He wants – no. He needs to know the demons plans; to understand why.

He is afraid of what it all means not only for himself but for Dean–

_Pinned to the wall, bloody and mangled; agonized pleas echoing around him._

Sam knew Dean had protected him by drawing Demon's attention away from him, taunting it–

_-shutupshutupshutup– _

with sarcastic quips about its own children.

The demon wouldn't stop until it fulfilled its malignant agenda. Sam could _feel _it with his very being. He is afraid for Dean. His brother will do anything to protect him; even fight the devil himself.

But the burden of The Demon is _HIS _responsibility to bear. He should be sacrificing himself for his family: Mom. Jess. Dad. Dean. He owes them that for all their pain and suffering. Heavy warmth fills Sam's eyes and he quickly swipes the tears away with the back of his hand; expecting the overwhelming hopelessness and grief that has become a second skin.

Instead he feels the spark of hope inside him.

Sam glances at his brother, surprised by the emotions swelling inside him. A fierce, protective love for Dean warms him and bolsters his spirits. Sam doesn't need strange vibes or psychic visions to know his brother would never let him face this alone. No matter what, Dean will be by is side, watching out for him.

As he resumes his sentry, Sam vows he will do no less.


End file.
